


Venice Will Always Have Carnevale

by Plenoptic



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Carnevale, Dirty Talk, Light Bondage, M/M, PWP, Public Sex, blowjob, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plenoptic/pseuds/Plenoptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seven torturous months apart, Volpe is reunited with the only man he's ever loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Venice Will Always Have Carnevale

He’d be there. Volpe said it silently, over and over again, watching the sea of masked faces. He’d be there. He had to be. Their time apart had left him aching, almost crippled by his absence.

 

The masks made it exciting. He wouldn’t be able to see the other man’s face, but he’d know him in other ways, by the shape of his legs and the curve of his shoulders, by the wry twist of his smile, by the touch of his hands and the ferociousness of his kiss.

 

Volpe slipped seamlessly in and out of the throngs of people, accepted a few hands, twirled a few girls through a dance. Venice came alive during Carnevale, became a cesspool of want and sin and vice. Bad for clerics and government officials. Good for lovers. A young bravo danced close to him, brushed hungry fingertips along his crotch, and Volpe escaped him with a smile. The air was charged. Frenetic. It fed Volpe, nourished his lusts. Venice was no Florence, certainly no Rome, but it had its charms.

 

A hand caught his wrist. Volpe’s breath stopped, anticipation freezing his heart. And then the grip loosened, fingers brushing his before disappearing. He spun on his heel, scanning the crowd, seeking, seeking… he pushed past an entwined couple and made his way to the edge of the piazza, frowning. No one… but…

 

“Found you.” Hands grasped his shoulders, spun him around, and a mouth descended on his, the kiss so heated it scorched his very soul. Volpe groaned, sliding his hands over the tight shoulders, down his sides, wrapped his hands around his assailant’s back, clutching the heavy coat.

 

“Niccolò.” He broke their kiss with a gasp, yanking on Niccolò’s clothes, pulling open his coat and shirt and dropping his mouth on the younger man’s neck and shoulder, biting hard enough to break skin, marking him, laving his tongue over the flesh he’d so missed.

 

“Easy.” Machiavelli slid a hand through the other man’s hair, tugging on the dark curls. “That hurts.”

 

“You deserve it.”

 

“Do I?”

 

“Yes.” Volpe cupped a hand to Niccolò’s neck, licking his throat and kissing a hot path along his jaw. “Oh, God, look at you.” He smiled, rubbing his nose against Niccolò’s rough cheek. “It’s been two days since you shaved.”

 

“That is uncanny.” Niccolò slid an arm around him, tugging on him. “Over here.”

 

Volpe allowed himself to be led to a side alley, intoxicated by the heat of Niccolò’s palm against his, the sweat between their laced fingers. They were scarcely hidden when he moved forward, pressing himself to Niccolò’s back and burying his hands beneath the younger man’s clothes, raking his nails along his chest and abdomen.

 

“Mine,” he purred, standing on the tips of his toes to nip at Niccolò’s ear. “God, how I’ve missed you.”

 

“It hasn’t been so long.”

 

“Seven months. Long enough.” Volpe busied himself with untying Niccolò’s hose, rubbing him through the thin cloth, smiling when Niccolò inhaled and arched his hips into the touch. “There’s my boy. How fares Rome?”

 

“As well as can be expected. And Florence?”

 

“She misses you. Ezio is well?”

 

“Of course. He hunts Borgia by day and fucks his way across the city by night.”

 

“And you?” Volpe reached into Niccolò’s hose, grasping his cock and squeezing him tightly. “Lovers?”

 

“I have no need of them.” Niccolò’s hand wound into his partner’s hair, pulling until it hurt while Volpe pumped him languidly. “Oh, fuck. Harder.”

  
  


“Where are you staying in Rome? How do you spend your time? Tell me everything.”

 

“Tiber Island, of course, in headquarters. It’s quiet. I have a library, an office. I read a great deal, and plan.” Niccolò turned and drew Volpe into a deep kiss, pushing him against the wall of the nearest building and grinding against him, the leaking head of his cock leaving dark stains on Volpe’s hose. “And you? Still a menace, I hope?”

 

“Could I be anything but?” Volpe whined when Niccolò cupped his crotch with his hand and pulled open his tunic with the other, trailing his fingertips down the older man’s chest. “Oh, Christ, love. I thought I’d die for missing you.”

 

“Overdramatic.” But Niccolò was smiling, leaning close to run his tongue along Volpe’s collar, his shoulder, circling his nipple before dropping to his knees and mouthing his lover’s straining cock. Strong hands gripped Volpe’s ass, pulling his hips forward. “Have you got a room?”

 

“Nearby, yes.” Volpe ran a hand over Niccolò’s dark hair, rocking his hips into the hot assault of his mouth. “How long can you stay?”

  
“A few days.”

 

Volpe purred, lowering a hand to play with himself while Niccolò continued to tease him through his hose. “That’s enough to make a man believe in God again.”

 

“I beg you, resist the temptation.” Niccolò kissed Volpe’s wandering fingertips. “I’ve no use for a pious lover.”

 

Volpe laughed, silenced only when Niccolò got to his feet and kissed him again, grasped his wrists and pinned them above his head. Volpe arched his hips, grinding his aching erection against his lover’s, moaning when Niccolò thrust against him, yanking his hose down so their heated flesh could meet. Niccolò snuck a wicked hand down Volpe’s thigh, grasped the back of his knee and lifted his leg, pulling him closer until their hips were flush. They didn’t kiss so much as make love to one another’s mouths, stopping only to breathe, to murmur sweet nothings and profanities as they ground together.

 

“Niccolò.” Volpe released a shuddering gasp, pulled into his young lover’s body when Niccolò arched against him, coming with soft grunts, his seed spilling over Volpe’s cock and stomach. The older man could do little more but murmur his name, over and over again, stroking the taut muscles of Niccolò’s lower abdomen while his hips pumped helplessly through his passion, thrusting into nothing.

 

“Gilberto...” Niccolò’s panting mouth closed on his, kissing him clumsily. “ _Amore_.”

 

The endearment stunned Volpe so badly that he didn’t realize he was coming until his knees nearly gave out, hot ecstasy leaving him quivering and groaning, He looked down, watching himself come on Niccolò’s debauched body. His seed stained the younger man’s dirtied travelling clothes.

 

“Shh, there you go.” Niccolò lifted his chin and kissed him, rocking his hips into his lover’s, drawing out the last vestiges of pleasure. “Mm. Lovely.”

 

“Boys… ugh.” Volpe swallowed, collecting his wits with difficulty while Niccolò touched him with lazy caresses, hands dipping in and out of his clothes. “Boys weren’t so vulgar in my day.”

 

“Your day was a long time ago.” Niccolò laughed when Gilberto gave his cock a threatening squeeze for his cheek. “And I’m not a boy.”

 

“You aren’t, are you. Not anymore.” Volpe pulled him close, kissing the rough bites he’d left against Niccolò’s neck and shoulder. “A man grown now, my Machia. How old were you when I first took you to bed? Nineteen?”

 

“Eighteen.”

 

Volpe hummed, doing the math, tapping his fingers against Niccolò’s shoulder. “Eight years… it feels like a day.”

 

“Actually, it feels like eight years.”

 

“Actually, please to be shutting up now.”

 

“Shutting up thus.” Niccolò kissed the nape of his lover’s neck, squeezing his hips. “Now, about that room?”

* * *

 

“You might have mentioned you were only going to use it for _sleeping_.”

 

“Gilberto.” Niccolò, eyes closed, extended a hand, searching blindly for his bedmate. “I’ve been riding all day. I’m exhausted.”

 

Volpe pouted, lying down beside his young lover and tracing his fingertips down Niccolò’s spine. “I wanted you to fuck me.”

 

“Later. I promise. Just let me rest a bit.”

 

“Mm.” Volpe’s grunt was noncommittal. He let his touch wander down Niccolò’s lower back and over his ass, leaning forward to anchor his mouth to the back of Niccolò’s neck, sucking on his skin until he bruised.

 

“Ouch.” Niccolò cracked one eye open, scowling at the grinning thief in the dim light. “Stop that.”

 

“Why?” Volpe snuggled closer, biting the shell of Niccolò’s ear just hard enough to warrant a growl. “Come on, Machia. Play with me.”

 

“What are you, a dog?”

 

“A fo—”

 

“Don’t say it.” Niccolò sighed, rolling onto his back and scrubbing a tired hand over his eyes. Volpe curled into his side, running his tongue along his lover’s neck, tasting his pulse. “Will you _stop_?”

  
“I want you,” Volpe whined.  “It’s been months since I’ve had you.” A wicked idea took root, and he straddled Niccolò’s hips, ignoring his groaned protests, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “I’ll suck your cock. Hm? Let you come inside my mouth. Spill yourself down my throat.”

 

Niccolò stiffened. “Gilberto…”

 

“Or I’ll leave you wanting, so hard it hurts. Tie you down, maybe. Ride you. Fuck you.” He licked Niccolò’s nape, grinning, rocking his hips forward and back, feeling Niccolò’s covered cock rub against the cleft of his bare ass. “Make you watch me take my pleasure from you.”

 

Niccolò’s hands inched up Volpe’s spread thighs, but the thief was too quick. He grabbed the younger man’s wrists and pinned them above his head, holding them in one hand while he trailed lazy caresses over his lover’s chest, teasing a hardening nipple through his shirt.

 

“Ngh! Gilberto—”

 

“Hush.” Volpe’s voice was a husk, his tone dark, sultry. It made Niccolò’s heart quicken. “You always liked doing it fully clothed, even when you were a lad. Remember? I’d bend you over the nearest bed, pull your trousers down just enough to get inside you. And ah, God, were you tight. Hungry little thing. Lustful. Now, don’t misunderstand me, love.” He was well prepared for this; he’d already hidden a length of silk ribbon beneath the cushions. Distracting his lover with vulgar words, he withdrew the ribbon. “That was eight years ago. You’re a different man now, I know that.” And he tied Niccolò’s wrists together, tightening the knot so quickly that Niccolò shouted. “And I’ll fuck you all the same.”

 

“Wh— _hnn_ —Volpe—”

 

The thief quirked his head to the side, shifting his attention to the other side of Niccolò’s chest, trailing a fingertip along the little rash of goosebumps that rose along his collar. “Look at you. So sensitive. You really haven’t taken anyone to bed since I saw you last, have you?” He smiled, untying Niccolò’s shirt and opening it wide. “Good boy.”

 

“I’m not a— _mm!_ —boy.” Niccolò tossed his head back, struggling to keep his hips still as Volpe ground down on him. Volpe planted his hands on the younger man’s biceps, pinning him with his weight, moaning at the gentle friction between their bodies.

 

“My Niccolò,” Volpe purred, trailing his tongue up his lover’s chest and suckling on his throat, bruising him. “Tell me you want me.”

 

“Ah—fuck—” Niccolò flinched, his hips bucking upward without his permission. “Want you.”

 

“I didn’t quite hear that.”

 

With a growl, the younger man lunged forward, looping his bound hands around Volpe’s neck and landing a rough bite against his lower lip. “I _want_  you.”

 

Volpe grinned, licked his bleeding lip and pulled Niccolò into a slick kiss, pulling his hose open with one hand and taking hold of his lover’s straining need. Niccolò was almost snarling into their kisses, his every struggling noise swallowed by Volpe’s questing mouth. Gasping, fed up with his own teasing, Volpe fished a bottle of oil from his hiding place under Niccolò’s pillow and upended it over the heated interface of their bodies.

 

“Stop,” Niccolò gasped, his lower back twitching into a hard arch when Volpe’s hand enclosed his cock, spreading oil up and down the hard length. “Too close—”

 

“Don’t come,” Volpe murmured, pulling at the knot around Niccolò’s wrists to free them and pouring the remains of the oil over his lover’s fingers. “Not until you’re inside me. Understand?” He guided Niccolò’s hand between his legs, hissing when two fingers invaded his ass, curling against the smooth inner walls, teasing him. “ _Fuck_.”

 

“Tight.” Niccolò pressed his mouth to Volpe’s throat, threading a hand into his dark curls and holding him close. “Relax, love.”

 

“Easier said than— _hngh_!—done—ah, Machia—” Volpe groaned, grinding his ass down against his lover’s palm. “God, there. Right there.”

 

Niccolò withdrew his hand, interrupting Volpe’s whine with a soft lick to his panting mouth and gripping the older man by the hips. “Come here.”

 

The moment Gilberto impaled himself on his lover’s cock was bliss. He felt tight, swollen. It had been too long, far too long, since they had been joined like this. He planted his hands on Niccolò’s shoulders, bracing himself on stiff arms, and raised his hips, sinking down again with a choked moan. Niccolò’s fingers raked his thighs, strong hands clasping his knees and spreading him wider, holding him open.

 

“ _Ohh_ , fuck.” Volpe dropped his weight onto his lover’s hips, tilting his head back with a gasp when the head of Niccolò’s cock rubbed against his prostate. “Deep…” He opened his eyes to look down at his lover, cupping a hand beneath his jaw and tracing a thumb over the younger man’s panting mouth. “God, love, you feel so good.”

 

The assassin groaned, running his hands up and over Volpe’s thighs, trailing a teasing fingertip over the head of his lover’s cock and biting down a grin when Volpe uttered an oath, his hips jerking out of rhythm. He sat up and leaned his weight against the wall, pulling the older man closer and meshing their mouths, swallowing every sweet little moan. Volpe straddled his lap, kissing a hungry path along Niccolò’s neck before capturing his lips again, head swimming with the taste of his young lover’s tongue, slick and soft against his.

 

Niccolò pulled him closer, fisting a hand in Volpe’s dark curls and changing his pace, grunting as he sank deep and slow into his lover’s body. The thief pulled at him, wrenched his shirt up and over his head before shedding his own, leaving them naked save for the hose clinging to their ankles.

 

Pausing for breath, muscles screaming, Machiavelli rested against the wall, looking his lover up and down. Volpe was a pretty thing by any standard, slender and dark. A myriad of little scars flecked his body like shards of glass. Niccolò frowned, tracing a swollen pink line along Volpe’s collar with his fingertip.

 

“When did this happen?”

 

“Two months ago, maybe three.” Volpe returned the attention, rocking his hips against Niccolò’s even while exploring the other man. “First time I’ve been nicked in years.”

 

“You’re getting old.”

 

Volpe stole a kiss, nipping the assassin’s lower lip. “Watch your mouth, lad.” His fingers found a rough patch he recognized as stitches in Niccolò’s side, drawing a hiss from the man beneath him. “You’re hurt?”

  
“No, not badly. Claudia tended it.” Deciding he’d had more than enough of the look of pain in Volpe’s eyes as they traced one another’s wounds, Niccolò grasped his lover by the hips and jerked his own upward, hilting himself deep inside the older man and smiling  when Volpe released a choked gasp.

 

“Ah—Niccolò—maybe we shouldn’t,” Volpe mumbled, placing his hands on either side of the younger man’s neck and crying out when the slick member buried within him stroked his prostate. “Stop—your wounds—”

 

“I said I’m fine. I’m rather sturdy, you know.” Niccolò pulled him in for a heady kiss, twisting his hips to throw Gilberto onto his back, holding his legs open and thrusting back into his lover’s body. Volpe snarled, arching off the bed and anchoring his hands above his head, twisting his fingers into the sheets.

 

“Fuck me.” The request came out as a moan, breathy and desperate. “Niccolò…”

 

“Say it.”

 

“What?”

  
Niccolò pressed his hips flush to Volpe’s and stretched languidly over his lover’s body, grasping a handful of pert ass and trailing kisses up the older man’s chest, running his tongue over a hard nipple. “You know what.”

 

Gilberto struggled against the assault of sensation, bucking against the younger man’s still hips. “Ah—ah! T- _tesoro_ …”

 

Niccolò smiled. Volpe felt the motion against his skin, a wry, half-quirk of the brilliant and venomous mouth, and then Machiavelli moved, and the entire world fell away, leaving only the slick union of their bodies, the hard thrusts that made the thief see white. They twisted and rolled over the sheets, coupling until they ached, one fucking and grinding while the other panted for air.

 

“Ungh!” Niccolò, pinned beneath his lover, wound his hands around Volpe’s back, squeezing his eyes shut as his member was enclosed again and again. They should have used more oil; the friction between them was exquisite, but almost painful. “G-Gilberto… I—”

 

“Hard,” Volpe breathed, low and sultry in Niccolò’s ear, his tongue flicking out to tease the already bruised flesh of his neck. “You’re so hard, love. You’ve fucked me so hard.” He wrapped a hand around Niccolò’s jaw, tipping his head back so their gazes locked. “And it has been so, so hard to be away from you.”

 

Niccolò grabbed him, slid both hands into his lover’s hair and pulled him in, kissing the breath from him, wanting nothing more than the taste of his mouth and tongue. They parted but stayed close, breathing the same air, the rough pistoning of hips becoming more deliberate, reaching for delicious new depths.

 

“I love you.” Volpe murmured the endearment against the warm flesh of Niccolò’s collar, lips brushing an old scar, tongue flicking out to taste the hollow of the young man’s throat. “Niccolò. I love you.” He closed his eyes and slid a hand through Niccolò’s hair, biting his lower lip when he felt his lover spill inside him, jerking against him with several low, shaky moans. He grabbed his own straining cock and pumped, desperate to reach his finish, cresting hard and fast when Machiavelli’s hand joined his.

 

It was too good, too much, over too soon. By the time Volpe could see again, the darkness fading from the corners of his vision, Niccolò had let his arms drop back to the bed, head tipped back and eyes closed, drawing long, slow breaths to steady the rise and fall of his chest. The thief sat up with difficulty, wincing at the ache in his ass, looking appreciatively down at the sight of his cum smeared across his lover’s stomach.

 

“...Ugh.” Niccolò lifted his head, squinted down at the mess on his torso, and fell back against the pillows again. “Jesus.”

 

“Hardly the name I’d invoke after making love, but…” Volpe shrugged, nonplussed by Niccolò’s irritated scowl, and lifted his hips, wrapping a tender hand around his lover’s cock and stroking him as he softened. He had half a mind to use his mouth to bring about a second round, but even Niccolò wasn’t that young.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Machiavelli said in a mumble, resting an arm across his eyes and grimacing when the thief began to nip his way up his chest. “Ah. Stop it…”

 

“You couldn’t stop me before. What makes you think you can do so now?” Volpe curled up against the younger man’s side, brushing a thumb over Niccolò’s healing wound. “Who did this to you?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”

 

“It’s not a cut, is it? You were stabbed.”

 

“Gilberto.” Niccolò sighed, sliding an arm beneath Volpe’s neck and pulling him closer. “Go to sleep.”

 

“Don’t you dare leave in the middle of the night,” the thief said, his voice low and muffled by drowsiness.

 

“I told you, I’m staying a few days.”

 

“I’m disinclined to believe you.” Volpe yawned, wrapping an arm around the younger man’s waist and nestling his head beneath Niccolò’s jaw. “You’re Machiavelli, after all.”

 

“Mm. Shut up and rest, old man.”

 

“Watch it.” But Volpe smiled, closing his eyes, listening to the soft thump of Niccolò’s heart behind his ribs. He’d never thought he could feel quite so content, not when so much was wrong with their world.

 

“Machia.”

“Hn?”

 

“I meant it.” Volpe bit his lower lip, waiting for a reply he wasn’t sure would come. “I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you.”

 

Niccolò was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. “You love me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

More silence—and Niccolò rolled over, his back to the older man, curling up on himself. Volpe’s heart trembled, nearly broke, but then the young assassin looked over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow.

 

“Well? Come over here.”

 

Volpe waited a moment, almost afraid to believe, but then Niccolò scowled, and with a wide grin the thief snuggled up to him, spooning himself against the younger man’s wiry frame, entangling their legs with a purr.

 

“Perfect.” He dropped his mouth to Niccolò’s bare shoulder, trailing kisses along the warm flesh. “God, you’re beautiful.”

 

“Thank you. Now shut the hell up and go to sleep.”

 

Volpe frowned, running his fingertips up and down Niccolò’s side. “There’s just one thing.”

 

“What? For the love Christ, _what_?”

 

Gilberto paused, bit his lip, and then pulled his lover closer, rubbing his hardness against the cleft of the younger man’s ass. “Sorry. Don’t know how it happened.”

 

Niccolò sighed.

 

 

 

 


End file.
